


10,000 Lightning Bugs

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Deleted Scene, F/M, Frottage, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: What might have happened during the firefly scene at Brakebills South if Quentin and Alice had given into their impulses?





	10,000 Lightning Bugs

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my good friend Steph, for her birthday! Steph, I hope you had a birthday that’s as wonderful as you are. Disclaimer: I don’t own The Magicians, they own me. This is just for fun. Thanks to Owl City’s “Fireflies” for inspiration! Comments/kudos are magic. Enjoy!

**10,00 Lightning Bugs**

By Lexalicious70

 

The experiment had been going on for hours now, and Quentin wasn’t sure how much longer his strength was going to hold out.

 

The room he and Alice stood in was nearly dark, all but for the flickering of the lightning bugs he and Alice were trying to will through Mayakovsky’s hoops. They had only been successful a few times, and Quentin flinched as one of the tiny insects ran into the edge of the electrified hoop, exiting its mortal coil in a tiny flash of electricity, and the anodes attached to Quentin’s temples gave him a healthy zap as well. Alice jerked her head, scowling, and she turned to him.

 

“Let’s try again.” She said, focusing on one of the fireflies floating near her hand, and Quentin nodded, pushing back his exhaustion. He knew Alice must be just as tired, judging from the dark circles under her eyes, but failure wasn’t an option for either of them. He stood next to her, their hands and fingers working in equal measure, as they willed the tiny glowing bug through the hoops. Quentin’s head throbbed but he watched, triumph growing in his heart, as it passed through the final hoop.

 

“Yes!” He and Alice cried at the same time, and she stepped toward him as he turned, his hands landing solidly on the swell of her large breasts. He jerked them away as if they burned his skin.

 

“Whoa! Oh . . . I am so—oh my God, I am so sorry!” Quentin felt heat rise to his neck and cheeks, and an answering blush rose in Alice’s face as well.

 

“It’s okay . . . it’s okay!” She replied, and Quentin began to reply when shocks of electricity began to spike through his brain. The remaining unattended lightning bugs were committing suicide _en masse_ at the other end of the set of hoops, causing the anodes to zap him repeatedly. He gasped and jerked, his limbs flailing, and then the wooden floor rushed up to meet him as his own circuits overloaded.

 

“Quentin!” He heard Alice cry through the haze of pain and confusion, and he walked the thin line between consciousness and oblivion until Alice knelt beside him and yanked the anodes from his temples. He gave one more shudder and blinked up at her as she reached down and touched his face. Her blue eyes, warm and unmagnified without her glasses, filled his vision as she leaned over him. “Quentin! Are you all right?”

 

“Unh.” Quentin replied, and a part of his mind gave an inward groan. _Smooth, Coldwater, smooth_.

 

Alice’s face pinched up in concern and then her face hovered closer. Quentin blinked up at her and then his mind was stuttering in a different way as her lips brushed against his. They hesitated, parted, then claimed his mouth more firmly. Quentin made a surprised, questioning sound against them, and Alice pulled back. She bit her lower lip.

 

“I . . . I just wasn’t sure if you were okay is all. I didn’t know what else to do.” She admitted. Quentin reached up and pushed a lock of her blond hair back.

 

“I’m okay. I’m . . . uh huh—” He nodded as he tugged her back down for another kiss. Alice gasped lightly and her body pressed into his, one leg getting thrown over both of his until their groins pressed together. Quentin arched into her and Alice pulled back, only to yank the high collar of Quentin’s Brakebills South sweater down and attack his neck with her lips and tongue. Quentin shivered as the sensations pushed blood south until his white cotton pants were tented. Alice squirmed against him and he slipped his hands under her sweater to find the soft glory of her breasts, contained in a smooth satin bra. He reached around, fumbling with the hooks and eyes until Alice sat back and yanked off her top before removing her bra in one smooth motion that made Quentin blink in surprise. She leaned over, her breasts pearlescent in the low light of the room, and Quentin lifted his hands to cup them. She sighed and shook her hair back.

 

“Oh Quentin . . . yes, just like that.” Her own hands yanked up his sweater and she placed her small hands on his chest, over his nipples, which peaked smartly at her touch. She knelt, her legs on either side of him now, and snugged her groin up against his as she leaned into his touch and began to move her hips. Quentin stared up at her as he caressed her breasts, his thumbs sliding over her nipples. She nodded, staring down at him. “Good . . . God, yes.”

 

Quentin’s lean form filled with sensation as Alice rocked against him and her nipples hardened against his fingers. He worked them with the same care as he’d guided the lighting bugs through the hoops with her. A hot, urgent smell rose up between them, and Quentin felt an answering wetness to the slick spreading across the crotch of his pants. Alice began to rock faster, her palms rubbing and kneading Quentin’s nipples. He could feel his core tightening and his testes drawing up, and then he gasped as Alice’s hands clenched over his pecs.

 

“Quentin!” She gasped, arching forward as she ground herself against him in the uneven gyrations of orgasm, and Quentin’s hips snapped up sharply as the friction pushed him over the edge, causing him to free fall into his own climax. His eyes closed in bliss at the heady feel of the contractions that gripped his balls and cock, feeling the hot flood of his own issue pool in his pants as Alice continued to whimper and rub against him. White noise flooded his ears, like a large flock of birds—geese, maybe—taking off in an explosion of flight. He grinned involuntarily and as the noise faded and his senses started to come back online, he realized that Alice was laying against him, her head on his chest, as her pale shoulders rose and fell in a quick rhythm. He put his arms around her.

 

“Alice? Hey . . . are—are you okay? I didn’t . . . ?”

 

“No!” She raised her head. “No, Quentin, I wanted to! I wanted to.” She touched his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” One of his hands moved to her hair and carded through it. She smiled, a bit of the usual nervousness that always showed returning as she moved off him and retrieved her bra and sweater. A few muttered words and a flick of her hands later, their skin and pants were clean and dry, and Quentin made a mental note to ask her where she’d learned it. His bet was from Eliot. He tugged his sweater down and got to his feet. Alice stood with her back to him, her head tipped back slightly, as she watched the remaining fireflies wink and glow in the near-darkness of the room. He took her hand and she squeezed his in return.

 

“We’re like them, and Mayakovsky is like us.” She said at last. “Pushing us past the limit, exerting his will on us, always in control.”

 

Quentin moved closer and slipped his arms around her, linking his hands just under her breasts.

 

“Until we can pass his test, yeah.”

 

“But for now?” Alice asked, a tremble riding on the last word as one of her hands rose up to touch his. Quentin lowered his head and breathed in the unique musk of her skin until it seemed to surround him.

 

 

“I don’t know.” Quentin chuckled against her skin and then glanced up at the fireflies. “Do what they do, I guess? It’s that or we crash and burn.”

 

Alice turned in his hold and her luminous blue eyes caught his.

 

“Or we burn in our way, Quentin. Like we did just now. We’ll make our own kind of fire together.”  

 

Quentin nodded and held her, her form warm and pliant against his, proof against the cold that wailed against the walls outside, warmer than the glow of the fireflies that created a starfield of light in the otherwise-darkened room.

 

_Fin_

 


End file.
